


To Be Alone

by Ocimi



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Depressed Arthur Morgan, Pinkertons, Torture, suicidal idealation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24398743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ocimi/pseuds/Ocimi
Summary: The Pinkerton's got lucky. Arthur was alone.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	1. Caught

The unmistakable sound of a gun cocking against his head made his blood run cold and his body freeze. His breathe remained calm and even though his heart raced as his mind spun to figure out what was going on.

"Morgan I presume? We have some business with you, sir." a gravelly voice spoke, closer then Arthur thought. He shuddered as a strangers breathe caressed his neck.

"Who? Sorry pal, I think you have the wrong guy." He tried, glancing our the corner of his eye hoping to see a feature.

"So you aren't the notorious Arthur Morgan? Wanted for murder and thievery? Including but not limited to robbing the Valentine bank? That isn't you?" Shit, he was screwed. Arthur shrugged, before he was roughly turned around. Seven bounty hunters stared at him, hands on guns, dogs growling lowly nearby ready to pounce. Shit, he really was screwed. Swallowing thickly he contemplated the chances of shooting and making a run for it. 

"Who are you?" Arthur said, hands still raised. The man smirked, trimmed beard and neat clothes, he stepped closer, and breathed a whisper.

"Your worst nightmare."

\-------

Pinkerton's. 

Somehow they had found him, though Arthur wasn't all that surprised. They weren't exactly being quiet, and now he was handcuffed to a wall, hands held above his head and losing blood. He groaned as he wiggled his fingers trying to encourage some kind of blood flow. His head pulsed in pain from where a Pinkerton had smashed his head into a rock. Blood had oozed from the cut, but had dried now leaving only a dull ache.

"Shit." He grumbled, disgruntled. He was certainly going to hang after they tried to get Dutch's whereabouts out of him. Arthur would never give the gang away, no matter what they did to him. He gazed blankly at the wall, filing away details for later. The were stairs to his left, leading up to ground floor, another cell across from him. Empty, blood dried and turned dark decorated the wall exactly where a head would be and Arthur swallowed.

Death wasn't something Arthur thought of that often, not that he thought the was invincible just... the idea of death never bothered Arthur so much, almost seemed like a blessing some days. Hosea had once tried to talk to Arthur about death, but was upset with his lack of concern about his own mortality. Truthfully, Arthur was more scared of being alive. 

"Here Walter, he is in here. Make him talk." A voice he recognized but couldn't place spooked him into staring towards the stairs. His eyes nearly widened when a behemoth of a man staggered down the steps, an angry looking beast. Sighing his gaze left the man and stared at the wall behind the cell door.

"Who're you?" A deep, but not unpleasant voice rumbled. He didn't answer, nor look towards the sound. The man barked a laugh before he stomped into Arthur's view. "Answer me, pretty boy. What. Is. Your. Name." Not a sound.

Fingertips dug roughly into his cheeks, his head turned forcefully but still Arthur blanked his expression. Not a sound.

Not a sound.

\--

It has been a week. He only knew this because Walter told him. He heaved, hanging limply from his wrists. His breaths came in pants as he hung, beaten. His body ached, a white hot pain coming from his leg as it had been broken just the day before. His wrists bled, making the shackles slick, but not enough to slip out.

Understand why foxes will sometimes chew their paws off, Arthur thought. He hung his head as he panted, a wave of nausea crashed over him and he heaved once again, his empty stomach protesting. He heard thundering steps, and dread filled him. He didn't look up, didn't move.

Four feet stood in front of him and he thought he lost his mind until his head was forced up. 

"Ready to talk? This is your last chance." Milton, his mind supplied. Still he said nothing, silence. Milton smirked and gently brought his hand up to Arthur's face, pushing a stray hair out his eyes. He stared back, eyes hard. Walter dropped his chin and he held his head up, staring defiantly back at Milton.

Milton chuckled, dropping his hand and turning. He looked over his shoulder a dangerous grin.

"They aren't coming. Last I heard they had moved away from that cursed town of Rhodes. Tomorrow you will swing, Mr Morgan. This truly is your last chance to talk, Walter here is getting restless and I don't think his temper will stay in check any longer." Andrew Milton was a terrible man, a racist among other things and Arthur had no respect so... He spat. Milton sneered and Barked an order at the large man standing idle besides Arthur. The last thing Arthur saw was Andrew's smirk as the beating started.

\--

His mamas face swam above him, her gentle eyes roamed his broken face. He blinked owlishly up at her, confused. Was he dead? Finally? He tried to reach a hand out to touch her but... he was paralyzed.

"My sweet boy..." Her voice echoed loudly around him and his head spun, a confused feeling bubbled up his throat but lodged. She hummed before she stroked his hair.

"I should have raised a better son." What? Arthur's fuddled brain couldn't keep up and suddenly his mother was gone, replaced by Lyle. A sick smile on his face as he stared down at him. Fear, he felt fear. He tried to shout, watching as Lyle raised his gun and aimed at Arthur's head. Fear thrummed in his body, the shot lined up and slowly, so slowly the trigger was depressed. The bullet seemed to fly slower, right before it touched his head Lyle morphed and there stood Dutch. A sneer on his face as he growled at Arthur. The bullet buried into his skull, he felt every inch, until-

\--  
He gasped as his wrists stopped supporting him and he fell, landing harshly and awkwardly on the ground. His brain struggled to keep up with what was happening as he was lurched to his feet, broken limbs protesting causing him to shout. His head lolled to the side as he was dragged out, of the cell and all but tossed up the stairs. He pried his eyes open, not entirely sure when he closed them and saw the gallows getting closer and closer. He could almost feel the tendrils of fear trying desperately to rouse him. Instead all he felt was almost elation. The pain would end at the end of that rope. He would have felt sad knowing he was alone but the pain kept his focus pinned on achieving a pain free moment. His eyes drifted out, a crowd all cheering for his death. He would have smiled if it didn't hurt. 

Distantly a voice began.

Arthur Morgan.

Outlaw, Thief, Murderer. Van Der Linde's trusted gun. Seduced by the silver tongue of a maniac. 

The rope nestled gently against his breathes and he struggled to stay standing. He hoped when he dropped that his neck would break so he wouldn't slowly suffocate to death. He stared emotionless out at the crowd, the only sign of life was the light sheen to his eyes as he fought back tears. The end was coming for his broken existence.

He felt human for a moment.

Pull.

He was falling, falling, falling...


	2. Camp

The camp was eerily quiet.

A body paced back and forth, worrying at their lip. It was 3am, a cloudy night with wind that caused the sweat to chill you. Hosea was beyond caring at that point, the cold didn't phase him as he erratically paced. Tired eyed peered out at him from the flap of a tent before, finally, Dutch staggered out.

"What has got you wound up?" He finally sighed out, sleep tugging at his mind. Anxious grey eyes met the tired almost black eyes of Dutch. Sleep became his last priority. He guided his troubled brother to the chair, helping him settle before pulling a chair close to his side.

"It's Arthur. It's been a five days and he hasn't made contact." The nerves were so thick in Hosea that he could feel it every time he swallowed. In his gut something felt off.

"Hmm." Dutch Hummed, a hand running over his mouth. "I'm sure he is fine, though it is strange he hasn't sent a letter or anything yet." Still, his mind tugged towards his bed and he patted Hosea's knee.

"Dutch, I don't know. Something feels off." Dutch sighed. In his head he figured Arthur was fine, and this conversation was tiring to his already tiresome mind. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply, opening his mouth to answer when a distant thundering of hooves grew.

"I bet that is him, Hosea. Nothing to worr-" A steed broke through the forest, its rider gasping for air, blood dripping down from their wrist, eyes sweeping over the camp before landing on Dutch. The hurried steps alarmed Hosea and only irritated Dutch's tired mind.

"What is it now, John?" Dutch grit out, trying to smooth his irritability. Hosea's eyebrows pulled together in worry as John jumped off his loyal horse and all but ran to the pair, His eyes were wild and unconciously his teeth bared. Hosea put a hand out and pulled John into his seat, worrying over the young lad.

"A-Arthur." He wheezed out, Dutch felt his stomach prickle with anxiety. "P-Pinkerto-Ow!" The pain tore into his bleeding arm and he clutched it and grimaced.

"What?" Hosea's voice was calm. 

"P-Pinkerton's got him. Got Arthur." Dutch stumbled back, eyes widening. Hosea made a strangled wheeze before lowering himself onto the unoccupied chair Dutch had stood from moments earlier. John looked up, meeting eyes with Dutch. His eyes shimmered.

"They... They're hanging him in Black water in two days." He shuddered and handed the newspaper clipping to Dutch with trembling hands. Carefully dark eyes roamed over the clipping, before his hands slowly dropped down to his sides and his eyes flickered about without focusing on anything. All irritation at John has evaporated and was replaced with horrifying worry. A dark voice tickled at the back of Dutch's mind, teasing the idea that Arthur had betrayed the gang. A dark voice that Dutch shoved forcefully into a metaphorical box.

Dutch pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply as his thoughts churned. He tried to file things into an order that made sense but his thoughts swirled and all he could think of was Arthur. 

Arthur dangling, eyes glazed over desperately reaching out for him, his name clinging to his lips... 

"-utch?" A hand touched his elbow and startled him out of his thoughts. John looked up at him, hand slowly lowering, his eyes staring desperately up at him. "What are we going to do?" 

\--

Dutch tried to sleep, really he did but his mind wouldn't let him rest. Together he and Hosea had made a plan, albeit a rather hurried plan. In the morning as a precaution they would move camp, Lenny had told them about an old plantation house in the swamps he and Arthur had cleared, and so they were moving there. Then a few members of the gang would venture out to Blackwater to hopefully save Arthur from the Pinkerton's. Sadie would lead the charge with Charles and Javier as backup. A few days later they would send word of what fate met Arthur before venturing back, hopefully lowering the chance of being followed. 

So much could go wrong and all the doubts ran through his head taking over any chance of sleep with irrationality. The image of Arthur hanging kept floating up and sending his thoughts spiraling down and he fought the slight paranoia of what it meant. Hosea wasn't doing much better, terror had frozen his blood and he wished so desperately that the boy would be okay. Waiting was the worst part.

\--

The move to Shady Belle was uneventful, though everyone was tense. News spread fast as the gang woke and rose, coffee and breakfast was served quickly before packing began. Susan ordering everyone around harsher then normal, though no one would fault her. Arthur was the glue to keep the camp together. He always was finishing chores and making his social rounds to make sure everyone had everything they needed and were mentally doing okay. 

Dutch could almost hear Arthur welcoming them home as they pulled up to the plantation house and shook his head, pulling the count up to the hitching post. Gently patting him and giving him an apple before turning and watching Lenny fight with Arthur's second horse, an untamed mustang he had found in the wild leg stuck in a fence. He drank around the fire telling the tale of how he got the mustang with gusto as Sean boasted him on. 

"This is a nice place, Arthur... Arthur would like it here." Hosea said, walking up to Dutch after parking the wagon he had driven. "He would hate the muggy heat though." He laughed humorlessly. The rest of the gang chattered as they set the camp up, Susan hurrying inside to fix up Arthur's room, the way he liked it for if, no when, he came back. She had to keep hope, for the sake of the camps backbone.

Everyone waited, nervously waiting for news from the three members out trying to save the one thing that connected them all.


	3. Waiting

It had been 3 days, and still no word had come in. The atmosphere around camp was thick and heavy as fears began to fester and ooze out, causing some minor fights to break out when tempers burned with anxious energy. Dutch and Hosea were no exception as they bickered about everything from money to the way Dutch sat. 

When dawn approached and the sleeplessness of John finally won out causing him to rise, Jack was nowhere to be seen. John looked tiredly back and forth before crawling, exhausted, out of his tent. At the table, sitting with Hosea, was Jack. The four year old was staring up at the old man's tired face and speaking, but John was too far to hear.

"Jack." John said, finally making his way over to the duo causing both to startle slightly. The young boy looked ip with his eyes shimmering before bolting back towards the canvas where Abigail sleepily sat up before being ran into.

"Hey John." The tired voice of Hosea rasped out, a cough ripping out of him. John grunted before sitting next to him, dropping his head into his hands and sighing. The duo sat in silence, comfortably silent as the time ticked by. The camp slowly started to wake and with it the debate of which member would go into town to check the post office for any news and today check the newspaper for anything. It was quickly decided that Uncle and John would ride out and keep ears open for any news at all.

\--

The wind tousled his hair as he stood on the edge of a cliff, a cigarette dangled between his lips as stared out at the vast expanse of open field. His gaze was pulled towards the woods as a wagon appeared out in front of him, a brilliant white stallion and strikingly black mare faithfully pulled forward, seemingly gliding towards him. Behind him he heard a low grunt. 

His face twisted, blinking rapidly as everything blurred briefly. Turning he was greeted by a friend he hadn't seen in awhile. A Rose Grey Andalusian walked forward, head tossing with agitation as it approached. Boadicea? His mind supplied the name and an emotional response caused him to step forward and raise his hand, gently cupping the soft nose. 

His heart ached as he moved to pet the horses neck, hearing the rumble of the wagon getting closer. Fear prickled down his spine and Boadicea tossed her head and turned to her side, as if begging Arthur to get on. Trusting his beloved horse he mounted and she took off, running, running, running...

\--

The air around him changed suddenly and he swore he heard a familiar voice and his heart squeezed. Words he couldn't distinguish floated around his head causing his mind to swirl in dizzying circles as the world seemed to fall out from under him, Boadicea carried on even as the ground fell out from under them. The further the ground fell the more his throat ached and his breathing cut out sporadically, eventually the pain took his breathe away completely and his hands flew to his neck in distress.

Boadicea reared up and Arthur fell off her back dropping down, down, down...

\--

Hosea watched as Dutch and Molly had a rather intense screaming match as tempers boiled over, causing the rest of the camp scatter to avoid any stray words. The fight stopped mid shout from Dutch as John stormed into camp with Uncle trailing slowly behind, Hosea stood abruptly seeing the stormy look that coated his second sons face. He stormed past them, stomping his way to the tent he occupied. Uncle strolled up and handed Hosea a letter as Dutch came and stood next to him anxiety danced around in both men's stomach.

Nervous energy radiated around the camp as eyes roamed over the letter, everyone breathed in deeply watching as the two would be fathers read and re-read the letter before both exhaled heavily and the letter dropped. Everyone leaned forward, awaiting the results.

Dutch cleared his throat.

"Arthur is..."


	4. Rescue

Nadia tossed her head snorting angrily. The man who helped her and fed her hadn't been by in what felt like months and she missed dearly feeling the sweeping motions of the brush on her side, missed the soft humming the man did while picking her hooves or feeding her a delectable sugar cube. 

It angered her when a dark skinned man had come up and tried to mount her so she tossed him and stomped, huffing and pacing. The only one she trusted enough was her human, the chosen man who she was loyal too and that wasn't him. She tossed her head and stomped in distress as a rope was gently placed over her neck, she wanted to fight and whinnied her displeasure. The man tried to soothe her but it all felt wrong, so wrong. Where was her human? They were leaving, moving away from the familiar scents of the lake side camp and moving down the road into the humid swamps. She could scent danger and spooked.

"C'mon girl, we are working on finding him. Please, trust us." A pale man with dark hair had stopped beside her when she nearly pulled poor Lenny out of his saddle with a burst of speed and fear. She glared at him and tossed her head in displeasure but slowly relaxed when he rubbed her nose. While she did NOT trust this man, the gentle touch greatly reminded her of her human and, well, he smelled vaguely like him too. When they finally stopped and she was tied with a long lead to graze she took a second to look around. 

She wished he was there to comfort her, gently rubbing over her with the brush and teasing her as she nosed into his satchel, instead... She was being stared at by a man with a bad aura, and she felt tense. She was loyal only to the man they called Arthur Morgan.

\--

When he opened his eyes next, it was not what he was expecting or really what he wanted. The pain of the existing world shortened his breathe and caused him to curl up into himself, agony clouded his thoughts causing everything to feel heavy and small. He felt hands pry at him and hissed out and tried to wiggle away, fear thrumming and pulsing inside him. The hands managed to pry him away from his curl and he blinked up at Sadie's concerned face the relief took his breath away momentarily and he gasped and wheezed before the pain slammed into him.

His neck felt like hell, as though he had hung. Well, he guessed he had based on the fact that he felt a slight burn on his neck. 

"-Ur? Can you hear me? Arthur?" He opened his eyes, again, and stared up at her briefly relaxing before a pulse of pain shot down his body causing him to groan and curl up. Sadie shouted something he couldn't decipher over her shoulder but Arthur succumbed to the pain and blacked out.

\--

The world pulsed around him and everything blurred with every beat of his heart, it felt as though his heart wanted to beat right out of his chest. Idly he wondered how painful that would be, to feel his heart rip through his rib cage and slowly stop beating. Still it kept on thumping painfully in his chest stopping all thoughts to focus on its beating. 

Thump, Thump, Thump...

A disorientating feeling fell over him and he realized he was falling, or... was he? He pried his eyes open to see a ... wagon? He was in a wagon? He tried to gasp but instead strangled out a cough and slammed his eyes shut. A gentle voice tried to soothe him but he couldn't understand what was been said nor the intention. A hand caressed his forehead and fear spiked up into his heart and he desperately tried to escape, before his eyes snapped open to see a startled Sadie. She lowered her hand and he watched as her lips moved but heard nothing over the roar in his ears. The fear, feeling the hand caress his forehead, was too much and his eyes rolled back and he dropped off again.

\--

Sadie couldn't lie, watching one of the men she started to get to know, someone she trusted, fall at the end of a noose was probably one of the most horrifying things she had seen.

Well, definitely top 10. Seeing her dear old Jakey been murdered in front of her was still and forever would be number one. Still, she tried her best to channel whatever motherly instinct she had left into comforting the distraught and feverish man. It was tough to see the strong arm of the gang weak and flustered, bruises and broken bones, black eyes and blood. He was coated in it.

So, she tried to gently brush his hair away from his face, only to reel back as Arthur reacted as though he had been shot. His fear was almost tangible in the air as he desperately tried to escape her hand, whimpers he wasn't even aware he was making filled the coach they were in. Charles poked his head into the wagon as Javier steered, offering a sad smile towards the widow. He passed her a tonic before helping sit Arthur's dead weight up to allow Sadie to drip the tonic into his throat, easing the pain enough for a painful but restful few moments.

The effects were almost immediate as his eyebrows drooped and his face relaxed. Arthur's labored breathe eased, and Charles took a moment to observe the man's injuries. He could only see surface wounds, black eyes and busted lips with bruises scattered on all visible skin. His leg was twisted oddly which concerned Charles, while they didn't have a moment of rest to cast it he knew it couldn't stay loose. He sighed and climbed his way back to Javier, the Mexican man staring blankly at the road, trying to avoid any bumps as they crossed over the border into Lemoyne. The air was growing more and more humid as they traveled further into Lemoyne, heading towards Rhodes. There they knew that someone would meet them and guide them to the new camp, or a roundabout way to it. It had been nearly a week and a half since Arthur had found himself at the other end of a gun and three days since his would be hanging. 

"Ah, there!" Javier pointed, startling Charles who whipped his head forward to see Lenny gently trotting towards them. He waved to them, and turned, guiding the way to Shady Belle. It would be an hour ride, but the promise of home spurred them on. A promise of food, relief and medical care caused them to spur the horses slightly faster. 

"Lenny," Charles called out, beckoning the man over. "They got the letter? They're ready?" His deep voice reverberated deeply in his chest, and he wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. Lenny nodded eagerly, he was the youngest member of the gang and he tried to prove his worth, so he made sure everything he could do was done right, so.. he had made sure everything he could get his hands on was ready for when the broken man was delivered to them. Luckily, as Arthur had just done a supply run before his disappearance, they had plenty of medical supplies and well, booze.

The trail grew overgrown and the wagon just barely fit the closer the got to the house, and soon the trees made way and a house looking beaten down stood menacingly in front of them. Home wasn't the word Sadie or Charles would have used but it served a purpose for now, keeping Arthur out of the elements.

"Everyone!" Lenny shouted and they appeared, riding ahead of the wagon and shouting louder once again. Dutch, Hosea and Susan hustled out of the house and met the wagon as it pulled up. Sadie peered out of the wagon and helped support Arthur's dead weight as Dutch and Charles moved him, as gently as they could, into the house and onto a cot in what used to be the dining room. They eventually would move him upstairs into a room but for now, this was the easiest way to help him heal.

Hosea's breathe stuttered when he saw the sight that was his son, a broken body that gasped and wheezed with every breath though seemed almost peaceful. A violent red burn on his neck, surrounded by a painfully dark bruise made Hosea's own healthy throat burn. Sadie put a hand on his shoulder as she let Susan and Reverend work. Tears clouded his eyes but did not fall as he dropped his head and backed away from the sight, the fear of losing him had not faded as he watched the pained and struggling form in front of him. Dutch chain smoked cigars outside the house as he paced restlessly his thoughts stormed in his head, the camp seemed a tad more cheerful but that did not matter to him as his friend, brother, son lay dying or close to it inside the building.

\--  
The gun was level.

Breathe in, keep your arms steady, breathe out.

Breathe in, put your finger on the trigger, breathe out.

"Pull!" 

Breathe in, line Up, breathe out, pull. 

A loud bang scattered the crowd as the rope fell taut before being ripped apart by a bullet and dropping the body unceremoniously on the ground in the dust. Javier and Charles in masks rushed through the crowd, gunning down whatever amount of Pinkerton's they could as they ran towards the downed body. Sadie ran to the wagon behind her and rode it in and towards Blackwater as Charles hoisted the light body of Arthur over his shoulder, grabbing his pistol in his dominate hand. Together they ran to the wagon before as gently as they could tossing him into the stage, before clinging to the side of the wagon and firing at any and all pursers. They ran the wagon as far north as they could before eventually losing the tail. However, they skirted around forests and woods for a full day before eventually making their way to Valentine. There they set up camp in the forest nearby before sending the Sadie, the only unknown Van Der Linde into town to send the letter. 

The letter itself wasn't long but was worded carefully to avoid any suspicion or prying eyes and sent with a tip to make its way as fast as possible to Rhodes. By the time she got back to the makeshift camp she was ready to pass out, exhaustion was tugging at all of them what they had witnessed and been a part of had thrown adrenaline at them and as it faded so did their energy.

Charles had hastily hunted and caught a rabbit and they had cooked it up over the fire before dousing it and deciding which of the three would take first watch. Javier offered for the first 3 hours, then Charles would take a turn and Sadie would finish off the night. Darkness crept in over the camp, the ember of the fire cracking and sparking every so often as Javier sat leaned up against a tree gun at the ready. Luckily it was an uneventful night. Arthur was safe - for now - and they were heading home.


	5. Betrayal?

The wounds that littered his body were many, and he had a few broken bones, more then they wanted to deal with but at least he was alive. While he wasn't awake yet and the only sound was the labored breathing that would hitch on occasion or if they jostled a particular bruise, he was mostly out of the woods and would hopefully start to recover by the end of the week.

Still, it was obvious the man was in pain. Hosea reached a hand forward and grasped his boys limp hand in his. It was clammy and warm. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh, tiredness tugged on his mind begging him to rest, lay down and let sleep take him. Instead he bowed his head and breathed deeply, letting his thoughts wander though it stay mostly centered around the injured boy in front of him.

To Arthur he was lost to the world, dreaming and feverish, everything felt both heavy and light. Behind his eyes his eyes moved about fast and wild as he saw things not really there, dreams of the cell, of Walter and Milton, morphed and changed every few seconds scattering any hope of keeping track. He dreamed of Milton. He came to the cell everyday after that first beating, taking care of the mental side of the interrogation while Walter tried to beat the information out of him. Arthur tried, really really tried, to stay quiet until eventually it became to much and the agony ripped out of him in a scream. Still he never said a word about the gang, or anything related to it. 

'Morgan,' Andrew purred, gently caressing the side of Arthur's bruised face. His scarred face pulled up into a snarl, as leaned forward and growled,

'Where is Dutch Van Der Linde.' No sound left the split lips, instead he did his best to glare fiercely at the agent. A sick smirk pulled the corner of Andrew's lips before he brought his hand back and slapped harshly against his cheek. Arthur growled as his head was pulled back to face Milton. 

'Tell me.' He growled, dangerously low. He brought his hand back to Arthur's cheek and brushed his hair away from his eyes, leaned in and whispered in his ear. Arthur's eyes widened and he whined low in his throat before Milton laughed and walked away, up the stairs and away from the now trembling man. With a snap of his fingers Walter thundered down the stairs and began his beatings.

\--

The first gasp of air into ones lungs usually brought relief but for Arthur in that moment it brought anguish and sadness. He gasped in a desperate breathe and sat up, pain spiking and causing him to shudder. He moaned and lay back, shivering as everything sunk in. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, as he took the scenery around him. No longer the cell or the hangman's noose instead it was a roof of a shabby house. He realized his hand was being squeezed and turned his head and saw Hosea staring at him and moving his mouth. Oh, he was talking?

"-Kay, You're going to be okay, Arthur." He would have laughed if it wouldn't have hurt so bad. Instead he whined and squeezed his eyes shut, a wounded animal ready to lash out or run. Dutch startled awake when he heard the bang of a chair falling backwards, cracking harshly on the ground, causing him to bolt up and out of his room. Molly continued to sleep peacefully as he stumbled tiredly down the old stairs and into the main room. Hosea was standing over Arthur's form, talking loudly as his hands fluttered over his body. 

Arthur kicked a weak leg out, his broken leg ached and pulsed in agony as he desperately arched his back, pain curving his spine and lighting a fire down his arm and up his leg. He swallowed down a shout of pain and dug his finger tips into the table surface. Hands fluttered above him and he fought the urge to fight knowing it was more then likely Hosea. Dutch watched, nerves on edge as he watched the young man struggle and gasp on the table in front of him. 

"God, I don't know what is hurting him more, we need... we need Swanson." Hosea didn't want to resort to morphine, but the amount of pain his son was in was... taking that option way from him. Dutch scurried out of the house, adjusting his vest to look a bit more organized before hunting for the reverend. They both knew Arthur and knew if he was acting like this then he must be in intense pain and the sweet embrace morphine would offer could take the edge off. When he showed up, needle in hand, the two fathers tensed and became nervous. Arthur was not a fan of needles.

"D-...Don't..." Arthur gasped, wild eyes landing on the needle in the other mans hand. Swanson apologized, as Hosea and Dutch gently grabbed both of Arthur's arms, Dutch rolling up his sleeve to allow the needle to penetrate the sensitive skin of this elbow crease. Arthur struggled, shouted out when he once again jostled his broken leg, and fought desperately wanting to get away. Fear of his situation tore into him and he found himself hallucinating the cell, Hosea holding the needle and plunging it into his neck. He gasped and choked as tears gathered at the corner of his eyes.

Breathe!

BREATHE!

BREATHE!!

"Arthur, BREATHE!" Finally a gasp of air entered his lungs, and he felt... drowsy. 

"Why... Why... did... you do it? How... could you?" He moaned, the drugs pulling his eyelids shut as the pain lessened and allowed a moment of clarity to his muddled brain. Before anyone could answer he was gone.


	6. Stuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been 2 months, I lost all motivation and the words didn't and still don't seen right. I am stilling brainstorming what I want to write though!

A few torturous weeks had finally allowed them to move Arthur's broken body upstairs, He stayed in and out of sleep for most of it with occasional bursts of awareness. He frequently lashed out at any and everyone who got to close, an angry cloud surrounded him and snuffed out any reason he had. Eventually he was able to peel himself off the dingy cot he had and stumbled his way painfully to the door leading to the balcony. He stumbled through the door and leaned heavily on the railing, staring out at the camp. It was night time yet the air was thick with heat that caused him to immediately sweat. He took a deep shuddering breath before the door that had closed behind him was flung open by Dutch. He looked as though he hadn't slept and the relief on his face nearly concerned Arthur before Dutch surged forward and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, noting how Arthur tensed under him.

"Whatchu want, Dutch?" He rasped out, feeling the need to lash out at the older man. "Come to stick another needle in me? Finish what they couldn't finish?" 

Dutch stared at him, his eyes flashed with a darkness that seemed to only rile him up more and he chuckled darkly. He turned and staggered closer to Dutch. His heart beat faster, angrier and he felt hotter. He bared his teeth, went to say something, anything, before Hosea casually walked out and carefully put a hand on Arthur. Arthur snarled, and shrugged the offending hand off before stalking off (clumsily due to pain) back to the room. Dutch was almost vibrating with pent up anger and Hosea could see the fight in his head.

"Give him time." Was all he could really say.

\--

Arthur had tried to sneak away. Again. 

This was the third time this week alone, and Hosea found his patience run short with the man. Arthur knew, cared but needed to leave, needed to go and run. He needed to feel the air, breathe finally away and free, far away from the all consuming heaviness that was the camp. His horse, Nadia, had nearly broke the rope that she was attached to when she saw him stagger his way over, which then alerted Javier who was on watch who then told John who told Hosea who rounded up Dutch and all but dragged the protesting man back to his bed. The next time he made it all the way to her before someone tried to grab him, Nadia nearly took a chunk out of them when they reached for Arthur and he couldn't help but be smug about it. 

Hosea knew the young man was struggling with being stuck in camp and was wrestling dangerously with the useless feeling that seemed to grow heavier and heavier over him, but it just was not safe for him to venture out on his own yet. He tried every way he could to try and convince Arthur of that but it seemed near impossible these days. The anger and irritation that clouded the foggy mind always seemed to grow thicker and thicker. Eventually Hosea agreed to letting Arthur tend to his wild horse, watching from a distance away as the man whispered to the near untamable horse. He always did have a way with horses, though.

"My sweet girl... You're alright." He cooed, voice still holding a rasp from the abuse it took. He gently rubbed her nose and she nudged into his hand before blowing hot air into his face blowing the hair around his face. He laughed quietly and leaned his forehead against hers. She huffed softly and closed her eyes, physically relaxing. Eventually Arthur pulled away and reached for a sugar cube which she greedily took and nudged his side for more. He wished desperately to mount up and go for a ride with her, wanted it so bad he almost mounted up right then and there. Hosea stood, ready to shout out, only to slowly settle back down as Arthur sighed and turned away, back to camp. 

\--

He finally managed to get 'permission' to leave camp. If he wasn't so excited to leave he would have scoffed at that, he definitely didn't need anyones permission to leave camp. Mounting up was a struggle but he managed it, ears hot with embarrassment. His bruising has gone down and he was finally able to walk with minimal pain. Being stuck in camp for over a month has wore his already thin patience thinner, causing more then a few scraps with various people. Mostly it was Micah's grating personality that had caused Arthur to snap, nearly tackling the man before Charles had caught his shoulder, causing him to yelp in pain and writhe away. Micah had laughed, snarkily thanking Charles for stopping the camp gimp from getting hurt. Arthur had used almost all his strength to lunge from the strong grip and punch the idiot in the jaw. 

Dutch was not happy, needless to say and barked at Arthur to leave camp and cool off. Gladly, he thought angrily storming over the hitching post. He made it out of camp, and down the road before the anger bubbled up and he growled, nudging Nadia into a gallop, away from camp. He needed space and he was going to get it, one way or another.


End file.
